Chapter 367
It was no longer a threat, but a curse woven from pain, betrayal, and love that had transformed into eternal hatred.
A vow that would bind their souls beyond physical death.
However, the climax of that execution never came to pass.
At that critical moment, the religious leaders who had survived the initial massacre—or perhaps their reserve forces—suddenly appeared.
They did not arrive alone, but in formation and with a readiness that suggested they had anticipated or been monitoring the chaos.
Their attack did not come physically, but as a rain of complex and coordinated energy, circulating and amplified by the surrounding air.
It was the result of a fusion of groups who deeply understood the governance of the Lu Core, a structured assault designed to suppress and destabilize Alaric's dark energy.
The opposing waves of power formed a net, or a storm of energy, that encircled him.
Pressed by this sudden and organized assault, and perhaps because his own super dark cosmic energy had begun to destabilize after the earlier explosion and large-scale massacre, Alaric Syah made a swift decision.
Rather than engage in another battle that could drain him further, he chose to retreat.
With a motion of his hand or a final act of concentration, he opened a teleportation rift in the air beside him, a dark portal spinning rapidly and unstably.
Without looking back—toward Myra lying on the ground or toward the ruins of his slaughter—he leapt inside.
The rift closed instantly after his body vanished, leaving behind a sudden and dreadful silence, along with the question of where he had gone and what he would do next.
"Hatred became her breath, the reason her eyes opened every morning. It was the only thing left of Myra Astrielle after everything was destroyed."
In the aftermath of Alaric Syah's mysterious departure, disappearing into a teleportation rift of unknown destination, what remained was near-total devastation and a girl on the brink of death.
Myra Astrielle, her body shattered and her life barely clinging on, was immediately evacuated.
She was rushed to the largest hospital in the world, a facility that resembled more a temple of technology and Lu Core medicine.
There, for more than a month, she underwent uninterrupted intensive care.
Her nearly formless body was saved through a combination of advanced medical science and high-level healing energy.
The dried flesh and muscle were regenerated, the torn wounds on her face closed and repaired, though they may have left scars that would never truly disappear.
The two holes in her forehead were patched with synthetic material fused to her bone.
She was saved, but what was saved was only her physical vessel.
After more than a month submerged in a coma or deep medicated sleep, Myra Astrielle finally awakened.
The eyes that opened were no longer the calm, observant grayish-blue eyes they once had been.
In their place was a pair of pupils that seemed to hold pools of dense darkness.
Her returning consciousness was not greeted by gratitude or confusion.
Without prompting, without needing to be stirred, a seed planted in the most painful and betraying moments immediately sprouted and took over the entire field of her mind.
It was hatred.
A hatred half-buried, watered by the blood of her loved ones, nourished by unbearable physical pain, and illuminated by the shadow of Alaric Syah's face cloaked in cosmic darkness.
'From any point of view, there is always a layer, a secret, a hidden suffering.'
Erietta Bathee's head was pressed—not too harshly, yet filled with authority—against the backrest of the train seat, a wordless instruction for her to remain in place.
The touch reminded her of boundaries, of the absolute control held by her guardians.
Her body pressed firmly against the cold velvet fabric, confined within the luxury of this moving cabin.
Within that enforced silence, a faint murmur crossed her mind.
The world, she murmured, was indeed exceedingly complex from any perspective.
A philosophical acknowledgment born from the layered experiences of her life, from Myra Astrielle to Erietta Bathee, from a world of blood rituals to one of cruel family hierarchies.
Each perspective offered only a fragment of the truth, and often, truth itself was merely an illusion constructed by those in power.
After the murmur subsided, her green gaze slowly lifted, tracing the dark wooden ornaments and gently trembling crystal chandeliers before finally anchoring to the ceiling of the train.
The intricate carvings there seemed to twist and shift, carrying her through a long corridor of time.
The ceiling transformed into the sky of another world, the sky above a field of crucifixion, or the sky above Myra's hometown with its glass towers reflecting artificial light.
Erietta's thoughts—or more precisely, the composite consciousness residing within her—began to dive.
She remembered again.
Not as one who reminisced, but as one plunging back into the ocean of memories that had once been her life.
'Every breath, every heartbeat, was devoted to a single purpose: to fully master the Lu Core. And the goal was clear, burning—becoming stronger.'
Fhoooh!
'To become someone who could no longer be destroyed so easily. All of it for one final resolve—to sever Alaric Syah's head.'
After being declared fully healthy by the hospital, a health that marked physical recovery more than inner healing, Myra Astrielle entered a new phase of life entirely dedicated to one thing.
She began to study with burning diligence, a focus that was almost inhuman.
Her subject was the Lu Core, the fundamental power of that world, yet she delved into it with a depth unlike anyone else.
She was not satisfied with basic mastery or ordinary practical application.
She dug into forbidden ancient texts, sought teachers on the fringes of society, and experimented at the limits of her own capabilities.
Her knowledge grew beyond the bounds of human reason, entering limitless territory where power intertwined with philosophy and pure will could bend reality.
Every principle, every energy flow, every variation of technique she absorbed and refined, turning herself into a masterpiece of knowledge fueled by anger.
Day after day passed, then turned into month after month.
In the silence of training chambers or beneath the cold night sky, Myra Astrielle continued to train.
Her restored body became a testing ground, bearing burdens of practice that would shatter ordinary people.
Every drop of sweat, every muscle trembling from exhaustion, every new wound born from failed experiments was offered to a single purpose.
She pushed herself to the utmost, surpassing her limits again and again, to become a better person.
Yet "better" here carried a darker meaning.
It meant stronger, faster, more precise, more lethal.
Each improvement was a painstakingly built step toward a single peak, a moment when she could do one thing—sever Alaric Syah's head.
The image of the man effortlessly mutilating her loved ones with super duper dark cosmic energy became an inexhaustible fuel, driving every repetition, every meditation, every risk she took.
And throughout that exhausting and solitary training process, a subtle yet certain transformation occurred within her soul.
To be continued…